Constellatio
by Banjodog
Summary: Draco is an elf, but is it genetics, or perhaps...an illness? Together with his bonded Harry, they race against time to fix a deep corruption in the magical world. DracoHarry slash.


**Constellatio**

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters therein do not belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made off of this story.

**Summary:** Draco is an elf, but is it genetics, or perhaps...an illness? Together with his bonded Harry, they will race against time to fix a deep corruption in the magical world. Draco/Harry slash.

Author's Note: This is my first real Draco/Harry slash story, and I hope you all enjoy it! This story will be based around the fact that Draco is not entirely human—an elf, to be exact, but it will be my own interpretation of it, and I hope for it to be original and an exciting read. I can guarantee that there will be absolutely NO mPreg, and I will do my utmost to keep this story in character and believable. Constellatio will also most likely by novel-length.

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CONSTELLATIO

Chapter One

"Eridanus"

_Eridanus: The River_

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In the past, Draco Malfoy had prided himself on his gift of resolve and determination when presented with a task. Whether it was an essay, a potions project, or even helping his mother design floral arrangements for a party, Draco accomplished the job promptly and thoroughly—and he often refused to quit until the outcome met his standards. But, after three hours of digging through mud and icy water, Draco was finding that his previously unflappable perfectionist attitude was not only chipping, but grinding away at an alarming rate. He wanted nothing more than to be home, sitting in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa and a book...perhaps the latest issue of _Quidditch World Weekly_, where there was a lengthy article on the sorely underappreciatedAshton Redpolls. So what if they had not won their past thirty games. It was a rebuilding season.

Draco cursed as his foot slipped out from underneath him and brought him crashing down into the mucky lake water, completely drenching the last remaining bit of clothing that had managed to stay dry, and tipping the old rusty bucket so half its contents disappeared back beneath the flotsam.

"That's _it_!" Draco shouted, pounding the water with his fist. "I'm done!"

While he was aware that crawling back to shore hauling a pail of stones and twigs in the middle of the night lacked a certain dignity, Draco found himself beyond the point of caring, and he staggered upright to begin walking back into the surrounding forest and the tiny house that waited in the trees nearly two miles away.

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The Augur lived in a tiny wood cabin—just barely large enough for two people to stay comfortably—and it was the only inhabited residence for miles. It was situated in the middle of a clearing, where a creek trickled lazily past shuttered windows that were opened only during the daylight hours. The garden, filled with roses, daylilies, and pansies was quaint and unremarkable...the fenced and gated yard would be a welcome sight after would most likely by a harrowing trip through the woods. Few in the nearby village knew of its existence, and those that did did not dare approach without adopting personas of the utmost humility and servitude. It was scandalous to even _think_ of appearing on the Augur's doorstep without first offering their deepest respects.

With a deafening bang, the door swung open on its hinges, its handle sent careening into the wall and creating a sizeable dent, while hanging art fell to the floor and landed to become a pile of shattered glass and splintered frames. Draco stood in the doorway, shoulders bent slightly forward and his clothes dripping water into tiny pools around his feet. His body was shuddering from a barely restrained temper tantrum, and his arm remained outstretched in its motion of his rather unsubtle entrance. Draco lifted his head, searching with stormy gray eyes for the evil creature that had sent him out at an ungodly hour to look for _pebbles. _He did not have to look very far, for the Augur was a mere ten feet away, sitting at a rickety looking kitchen table, on an equally questionable chair, and sipping calmly from a cup of tea. A fire was burning happily in the living room hearth, casting the entire ground floor with a warm orange glow. The place was cluttered, but far from messy, as several unusual nick-knacks hummed, chirped, and buzzed in their places on the walls and coffee tables. An aged grandfather clock stood watch in a darkened corner, and, after a final click of the second hand, it chimed the midnight hour into the relatively quiet room.

"It's about time," the Augur said as she took another sip of tea. "I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long."

Draco's lips thinned in irritation as he entered the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him and taking no small pleasure in leaving muddy footprints. The Augur did not seem to notice however, and Draco stalked angrily up to the table, trying to look as intimidating as he could with a slight limp and shoes that squelched uncomfortably with each step he took. Without a word, Draco slammed his bucket onto the table and turned back away to head up the narrow stairs and his temporary bedroom.

"Please be back down here within the hour, Draco, as I'm sure you don't want your task to have been in vain. Oh," the Augur said, her eyes widening as she seemed to finally note Draco's trail of mud and water. "Did it rain?"

Unable to suppress a growl, Draco continued to storm up the stairs and down the hallway into his room, where he kicked his shoes off violently into the corner before heading into the adjoining bathroom. He plopped down on the floor next to the tub with a lack of grace that would have made his father apoplectic, but, as Draco pulled off his socks and found that he was able to wring a steady river out of them, he became too far gone into his temper to even think about projecting the icy indifference that Lucius was famous for.

_'She,'_ Draco thought as he ripped the soaked layers up over his head. _'Bugs me!'_

He quickly filled up the tub with steaming hot water, waiting impatiently until the level was high enough that he could lie down in it and let the water soothe his aching muscles and melt the layer of cold that had settled over the length of his body. With a sigh, Draco ducked under the water and let himself soak there for a few seconds before resurfacing. He still felt grimy, but at least he was warming up, and he could feel the water peeling away not only his chill, but the edge off his anger. Which was quite a shame, as it felt like it could have been a satisfying grudge, not to mention that it would have been quite justified.

Making a point to not look at his reflection in the mirror on the wall until he was out and clean, Draco reached over the edge to retrieve the soap and cloth. The bath was the most enjoyable experience of his stay at the Augur's house, and the water that was charmed to stay perpetually hot was, in Draco's opinion, his "vacation's" one redeeming feature. Giving a quiet snort, Draco leaned back to rest his head on the tub's ledge and lazily scrubbed his arms and shoulders. 'Vacation' was hardly the term Draco would have used to describe his term in the house, but he reined in his more colorful descriptions for fear of additional, pointless tasks. Draco ducked under the water again, and he tried to remember why he was even here to begin with.

_'It was the letter.'_

The letter with the green wax seal that depicted a giant, leafless tree as the waxing crescent moon rose behind its branches.

Draco sat up suddenly, causing the water to slosh violently over the edge.

_'No,'_ he thought. _'Not again.' _A deep, stabbing pain had bloomed just under the right side of his ribcage, and Draco hunched forward in an attempt to ease the ache. It was a vain effort, however, so he gritted his teeth and waited for the spasm to pass. He had dealt with this condition all of his life, but he had yet to become used to it. The bouts of pain always came randomly, and, though they lasted a short amount of time, each time they found Draco unprepared. His concern towards their cause was met by Lucius' casual dismissals of 'mis-firing nerves,' cramps, and ulcers. Draco would have pressed the issue harder, but the pain came so infrequently that it was not enough to warrant alarm.

With a herculean effort, Draco pulled himself out of the tub and he staggered over to the sink, grabbing his towel only as an afterthought. He leaned on the counter for support, and concentrated on the feel of the droplets running down his neck to take his attention away from the slowly abating pain. He clutched tightly at his skin of his abdomen, wrinkling it beneath his fingers as the muscles twitched beneath them. Only when could he breathe without wincing did he dare lift his gaze and, steeling his nerves, look into the mirror.

Draco's reflection had a nearly anemic pallor: his skin was disturbingly pale, and blue veins formed thin webs along the lengths of his limbs. A dark purple flush encircled his eyes that were now the color of new knives, and all the color had fled his lips and gums. Only his hair had any sign of vitality—ghostly white, it shimmered in the candlelight and the water droplets added an extra glimmer.

Reaching up to touch his fingers against the glass, Draco frowned at the sight of his nails, for they too had turned completely white. His hands shook with a slight tremor, and the back of his neck grew warm as though he were in the throes of a fever.

He was _hideous. _

Draco turned away from the mirror and entered his room to collapse on the bed. Right on schedule, the pain dissolved into a dull ache, and Draco was finally able to ignore it. He was still soaking wet, but he felt completely drained and settled for letting himself air dry. He would worry about drying the quilt later.

Turning over on his side, Draco checked the clock on his bedside table. 12:25. The Augur would want him down in half an hour; no time to safely take a nap. Waking up was always a difficult task for Draco, so he knew he could either go down early, or wait. He opted to wait. It would take a while for his appearance to go back to normal anyway, and he did not want to go back downstairs and look like he had been dragged off of his deathbed. He was sure it would only amuse that evil hag. With a heavy sigh, Draco sat up and set about towelling his hair. Improperly dried, it would look flat and greasy, which, even in the middle of nowhere, was unacceptable.

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The Augur was an old woman. Her hands and face were wrinkled with age, and streaks of gray spread out from her temples and out into the loose mass of what was once brilliant mahoghany hair. She walked slowly and sat with a forward hunch, and the only thing that kept her from appearing frail were her eyes, which sparkled with deep, impenetrable knowledge. They were dark with age, countless years, but they were far from old. The Augur _saw, _and nothing could escape her once she decided to pay attention. That was the trick—to learn how to ignore the majority of the world, otherwise she would fear for her sanity...her conscious mind even more so. She had realized early on that it was infinitely more...comfortable...to live alone, where little happened other than the occasional rabbit that wandered into the garden. No one bothered her, until she needed them. It was so much easier that way.

Draco had almost been spared her, as she had debated for nearly a month on whether to call him. It had seemed pointless at first, as there was no particular reason that he should go through his revelations, but a nameless urge made her summon him. She was still unsure of Draco's purpose, but she was the last person to question that deep, urging will. It was better to obey, and then quickly go back to ignoring it. That way, everything, the Augur had discovered, always worked out in the end.

Hearing Draco's footsteps in the upstairs hall, the Augur promptly cleared her mind of all things except the plate of rasberry scones in front of her. She had never gotten the knack of emptying her mind entirely of all thoughts, and instead focused on one mundane thing until the moment came when her attention could be shifted. With methodical intent she rearranged the scones until they were perfectly spaced and stacked on the plate—forming a near flawless edible pyramid. It was easier to concentrate if things were perfect, but Draco, as he sat down, just considered her borderline obsessive-compulsive. The Augur's hand froze in place as she moved her gaze to the pail sitting near the edge.

"Take a handful of stones, and be silent about it," she instructed, her soft, slightly shaky voice morphing into an order that was to be obeyed. Draco rolled his eyes and reached into the pail, grimacing at the feel of the mud and algae creeping under his nails.

"Toss them on the table."

Draco did as he was told, but even as the Augur straightened and examined the stones and twigs with a critical eye, he pulled his hand away and scowled at the slime that was then lining his palm.

After a few minutes of deliberation, the Augur reached forward and pushed a few of the stones around before picking them up and let them roll across the table again. It continued on for several long minutes—the Augur would toss the stones, frown at and rearrange them before picking them back up and start the process over. Draco, for his part, yawned and leaned back into his chair to stare up at the ceiling and trace paths of the support beams. A few moths circled around the overhanging lamps, but the smoke from the incense that the Augur had lit kept them from descending any farther. All was quiet save for the clicking of rolling pebbles, and this realization made Draco sit up again. He twisted around to look into the living room behind him, and his brows furrowed at what he saw. The numerous gadgets and trinkets were all quiet in their spaces, allowing Draco to hear the tiniest whisper from the creek outside. He checked the grandfather clock in the corner, which also sat still and silent. It was frozen at exactly one minute to one—the end of the fabled witching hour.

The Augur hummed thoughtfully, and Draco turned back around. She was sitting rigidly, staring at the pattern of pebbles so intently Draco half expected the table to burst into flames. There was a pregnant pause before the Augur finally reached down and turned the twig so that its forked branch faced away from the group of pebbles.

Draco gasped as he felt another quick stab of pain below his ribs, and he reached forward to grip the table's edge so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It was gone almost instantaneously, though, and he was able to sit up straight again. He looked across the table to the Augur, who had paled considerably. Draco waited expectantly for the answer while, nearly half a country away, Lucius Malfoy rose from his desk and stood in front of the study's fireplace. The letter in his hands shook from his trembling before it was thrown into the flames. The stamp of the leafless tree and the single word inscribed on it curled and burned. _SATORI. _

"It is a rather foolish thing," the Augur said quietly, her voice slow and ponderous. "To think you can challenge fate. You can't change the way things are. Especially if the way is dark. It's better to just let things be."

"What?" Draco's question came out a bit harsher than he had intended. The Augur stared back at him, her eyes suddenly dull with age.

"It can't be fixed. It's too sick...there is no chance anymore. Just ignore it...let it go...it would be all for the best, that way."

"What are you _talking _about?" Draco shouted, growing frustrated.

"Just ignore it."

"I always knew divination was shady, and cleromancy definitely seems to be one of its weaker points. If you won't give me a halfway decent answer, I'll leave!"

"It's too sick. Trying to fix it will just make everything worse."

"God! I've had enough!" Draco shouted, pushing himself violently away from the table. "I'm tired, angry, cold, and sore. I am going home!"

Without a second thought, Draco summoned his luggage and broom to his arms and he stormed out the door. He did not care that it was the middle of the night, or that he had several miles to travel alone. He wanted to go home.

Inside, the Augur gathered the stones into her hand and let them roll once more. The grandfather clock struck one as they hit the table and rolled into place.

"Oh dear," the Augur said as she tucked her graying hair behind a distinctly pointed ear. She leaned forward to examine the pebbles. "It looks like rain tomorrow."

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To be continued.


End file.
